


Solas' Home for the Wayward Spirit

by Fumika



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:16:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4811123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fumika/pseuds/Fumika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern AU where Blackwall gets the opportunity to guard the lovely tenants of Solas' Home for the Wayward Spirit,  like Corypheus and the fear demon.  </p>
<p>More characters will be added + eventual Blackwall/Inquisitor, but this is mostly a collection of short stories with a vague overarching plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solas' Home for the Wayward Spirit

Like many newspaper job ads, the description was frustratingly vague. _Security guard needed. No experience necessary, but candidate will be expected to live on premises. Send resume to AllNewFadedForHer@aol.com._ However, Blackwall didn’t mind this. After all, he couldn’t afford to be a picky man, what with bills to pay and a checking account that was quickly approaching zero, so within the hour he was sending in his application, not giving a damn that he didn’t have a clue where the hell he was applying. Then, without another thought to the ad, he’d continued on with what had become his usual routine for the past couple of months: searching for job openings, sending in his resume, and trying not to panic when he inevitably never received a phone call in return.

Perhaps, then, it isn’t too difficult to imagine the older man’s surprise when his phone had suddenly begun to ring some half hour later, the screen displaying a number he didn’t recognize. Straightening somewhat as if afraid his disheveled appearance could somehow be heard through the phone, he quickly cleared his throat and then at last brought the device to his ear, uttering what he hoped to be a pleasant sounding “hello”.

“Is this Thomas Rainier?” a voice asked, young, boyish, with some strange ethereal quality that made the back of Blackwall’s neck prickle—well, the voice as well as the use of his old name that he’d rather lay buried forgotten in the back of his mind.

“Speaking.”

“He would like to meet with you,” the boy said cheerfully. “Solas. The director. Here at the Home. I think you’ll like it here. It’s quiet, kind. And she’s excited to meet you, you know. She’s always excited when they come, but then they leave so quickly. She hopes you’ll stay.”

“Er, right,” Blackwall replied for lack of anything better to say, quickly losing his grasp on the conversation. Before the strange boy could baffle him any further, he added, “Would this afternoon be fine? Say, 3 o’clock?”

He could almost see the boy nodding through the phone. “Yes. He would like that.” The boy then dictated the address to Blackwall, and seconds later they were saying their goodbyes. Blackwall’s heart was hammering in his chest as he finally pressed the end button on his phone. An interview. He had an interview. This afternoon. _Christ,_ he thought as he ran a hand through his uncombed hair and self-consciously eyed his faded t-shirt, _I look like a fucking mess._ Jumping up at once, he threw down his phone and all but ran to the bathroom.

 

When Blackwall arrived fifteen minutes early to the sprawling two-story building that housed his potential employer’s business, he felt like a damn right mess. Not physically, of course; he’d showered and gotten dressed in the crisp white button-up and grey slacks that comprised his only interview outfit. The building itself (a beautiful craftsman style home with sage siding, stone columns, walnut accents and abutting a cheerful little pond) was also not the source of his trepidation. Rather, it was the knowledge that he _needed_ this job which had Blackwall’s mouth turning dry as he passed by the sign reading _Solas’ Home for the Wayward Spirit_ and ascended the stairs to the front door.

Pausing there on the porch, he took a deep breath and attempted to calm the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Yes, he needed this job, but if he had landed an interview, than that meant he’d already passed the biggest hurtle yet. It meant that this Solas, whoever he was, didn’t care about his past—or at the very least, had decided to give him a chance, and a chance was all that he wanted. He’d be the best damn security guard the man ever had, so long as he actually hired him. Sighing one final time, he turned the brass doorknob and entered the establishment.

Blackwall wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when he took his first step inside. Scratch that; he’d taken the morning to imagine _several_ different scenarios. Perhaps he’d be working at a nursing home for the elderly. Or an asylum to treat substance abuse. Or, if he were really unlucky (although still not opposed to the idea), he’d landed himself an interview with a facility that attempted to reintegrate dangerous criminals into society. Any of these choices he would have preferred. Hell, even the criminals would have been a joy in comparison.

At least they were human.

And not horrible, oversized arachnids that crushed heavy Victorian furniture like they were made of popsicle sticks.

“Right on time. Excellent,” a bald-headed man acknowledged Blackwall’s frozen form with a nod of his head and then quickly shielded himself with a silver serving platter as a hissing green liquid shot in his direction. “If you plan on staying, I would suggest you find cover.”

Stay? On the contrary, Blackwall very much so considered running straight out of that insane place, his dignity and the money be damned. The door was only a few feet away after all. In an instant, he could climb back into his truck, drive to the nearest bar, and proceed to drown out the memory of the day with whatever was the most potent stuff available. Then, he’d continue on with the job hunt, at places which didn’t house creatures that could kill him from across a room. Nice places. Like high security prisons or construction work on skyscrapers.

And he’d nearly had his foot out the door too when he suddenly recalled the unpaid utilities bill sitting on his coffee table.

Blackwall glanced back at foaming, ravenous creature before him. _This is fine_ , he thought with a nod, and then he quickly ducked underneath a nearby table to avoid the stream of acid spewing from the creature’s mouth. He eyed the girl taking cover in an alcove near him.

“Is it always like this?” he asked her, raising his voice so he could be heard over the cacophony of clicks and screeches now emitting from the arachnid.

“It’s not so bad,” she replied brightly, flashing him a smile. “We’ve had much worse than this. Once, there was a demon so large it got itself stuck in the rafters. And then it took the ceiling out. But we fixed it. No leaks or anything.” When a panicked look flickered on Blackwall’s face, the girl’s smile faltered. “You get used to it,” she added as an afterthought.

“Right. Right,” he mumbled and then grabbed the splintered leg of a chair. Clambering to his feet, he glared at the beast as it turned to face him. Well, it certainly wasn’t going to stop itself.


End file.
